About Notebooks and Clocks
by Nina-osp
Summary: "It was all a dance between the two of them; some sort of 'dance macabre' that ended up being the reason behind them growing apart.".:Don't hug me I'm scared fanfition:. .:Implied PadClock/PadLock:. .:TW:death TW violence TW gore:.


Just in case you missed the warning, _**THIS WILL CONTAIN BLOOD AND GORE AND DEATH, OKAY?**_

Now carry on

* * *

_What's your favorite idea? Mine's being creative-_

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, would you quit it?" came the clock's irritated voice from the wall where he hung, in his clock form. "It's past 3 am, some people are trying to sleep!"

The Notebook frowned, dropping the crayon she'd been using to drawn on her beautiful white dress. Honestly, that old clock could be such a party-pooper sometimes!

"But Tony!" she got up from her place on the floor, walking close to the wall where he hung with a fake smile on her face. "This is the best _time_ to get creative!"

The seconds hand on the clock seemed to tick just slightly stronger, and one eye angrily opened itself on the blue surface to glare at her.

"It is only time to sleep, at least where we are." he retorted dryly. "Everything else we could be doing is a waste of time."

"You are just so silly!" she giggled. "Maybe if you opened your head a bit, you could see how fun it is to be creative!"

He open eye rolled itself before closing again. "Just go back to sleep."

Her grin turned wicked as she, in one sudden movement, grabbed the clock from the wall and tossed it all the way across the room. Tony only had enough time to gasp in surprise before morphing into his humanesque form, his back hitting the wall with a loud "bump!", but uninjured. He turned to glare at her, his sword materializing from his hand. "If it is trouble you are looking for" he practically growled at Paige, already in a fighting stance. "it is trouble you got yourself into."

She cackled into laugher, one hand discreetly reaching into the folds of her dress for one of the sharp pencils she hid there. "Why, dear, I thought you didn't want to mess up with your oh-so-precious schedule?"

"I can make an exception for you." he snarled, starting to walk in a wide circle around her, sword at ready. "But we must make this quick. No time for mucking around!"

Her grin grew until it was stretching her face so much, her white skin resembled wrinkled paper. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, dear!~" she said, in a sing-song voice. "This can be over very quickly, if you don't... _Watch_ out!" and, with another disturbing fit of laughter for her own pun, she threw the pencil at him, aiming for his eye.

He was expecting it, of course, so neither of them was surprised at his dodge. Holding his sword up for a strike, he darted in her direction, and swing the blade down where her head should be. She blocked his attack with one pencil, and tried to jam the sharp tip of another into his ribs, but he jumped to the side right in time, the broken pencil hanging from his blade. She attacked once more, this time managing to perforate his arm just as the sword made contact with her leg, cutting the gooey ink in two. Tony stepped away, dropping his sword to try and take the pencil from his arm, as she tried to recover her balance and not fall on her back. He muttered curses to himself as the drawing utensil came off, causing her to giggle even more as she focused on making the puddle of ink staining the floor to form a leg once more.  
"Tired yet, dearest?" she asked, fake innocence in her voice as she pulled two other pencils from her skirt. He scoffed.

"You wish, Paige darling." he mocked right back, carefully picking up his blade again. He was at a disadvantage, now, fighting with only one arm. She'd probably win this, unless he somehow got creative about his next attack, and they both knew it.

Paige smirked. That old clock was never good at thinking creatively.

She darted at him, and once again her attack was blocked, although he fought more carefully. Wood collapsed against metal with a dull noise as they continued their _dance macabre_ through the living room, her occasional laughter and his panting breaths being the only sound that could be heard. If their three preferred victims woke up with the noise, they were wise enough not to come investigate it; it wouldn't have ended up well.

At last, and contradicting all the odds, Tony was the one to deliver the fatal blow, managing to pierce his sword right through where the Notebook's heart would be. She blinked, surprised, staring at the mix of red and black paint that was flooding from the hole, staining her white dress. Then, to his astonishment, she grinned, even more savagely than before.

"Why why, Mister Clock, it seems creativity has finally slipped into your mind." she said, interrupted by an insistent cough, that turned out to be mostly her "blood".

"I wouldn't use these words." he said, his voice cold, but his expression unchanged.

"Well, dearest-" another cough, and she fell to her knees. "I just don't happen to _care _about what words you'd use. let's just-" another cough, and she fell forward, her own weak arm being the only thing preventing her from hitting the floor face first.

He was immediately knelt next to her, not yet daring to touch her. He gave a dry laugh, but his frown betrayed his facade; he was worried.

Another sudden, more violent coughing fit caused her to fall, and he gently stopped it, turning her and laying her carefully on the floor. She looked at him with her big, white eys, and, smirking once more, she whispered with her final breath;

_Let's all agree to never be creative again..._


End file.
